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Jim Kirk is a highly, highly attractive man.
This is a fact which has endlessly tormented and distracted Spock ever since he’s known the man, before and after they began their courtship. A Vulcan mind can withstand pain immeasurable, but Spock could not resist Jim’s allure. Not after years of his shields slowly being worn down by temptation, and a teasing flirtation he realized was intentional far too late.
Jim is an enigma—nothing has ever disrupted Spock’s shields, unearthed those pesky emotions, as much as Jim has. From glittering looks to thoroughly distracting human kisses to touches of the inside of Spock’s wrist, he has a unique talent for distracting Spock wildly with aching lust and love like no one ever has.
Jim is totally unique and completely addicting. With luck, he’ll remain by Spock’s side for the rest of his life.
All the time, Spock is discovering new ways for Jim to disrupt his perfect control, and one of these makes its first startling appearance one night on the ship.
They’re hosting a delegation of aliens about whom no one knows very much. The purpose of the visit is to learn more about their culture, and Spock has been looking forward to adding new banks of knowledge to his databases.
The delegation are mingling with the senior officers in a common room when Jim reaches out to shake the hand of their leader. Instead of accepting Jim’s hand, the leader kisses the back of his hand and bows over it. The whole room seems to figuratively freeze.
Spock is instantly struck by a wave of hot anger, powerful enough to make him pause in his tracks. He collects himself quickly, straightening his back and smoothing out his expression.
Jim is equally startled, yanking his hand back with a cautious look on his face. The delegate laughs nervously, sensing the tension in the air. “I am sorry. It is our custom to greet all honored leaders in such a way. I did not consider that this method might be unwanted. Please, forgive me. How is it that your people greet leaders for the first time?”
Jim shakes it off and explains a handshake, directing the conversation to more productive matters quickly. Spock pays acute attention to everything said, but splits his mind to go over the details of that strange interaction. Most notably, his own reaction.
Watching a stranger take Jim’s hand to kiss, especially with that look of respect and admiration in his eyes, was jarring. Spock’s first instinct was to leap to Jim’s defense, though he needed none. The thought of not acting was…disquieting.
Perhaps defense is not the proper word. Spock wanted to…intercept. Not because Jim was in any danger, but because Spock himself couldn’t stand to watch such an intimate gesture performed by anyone but himself. Above all, he wanted to make it perfectly clear to that delegate that the only one allowed to touch Jim in that manner was himself.
And what would that have accomplished? The delegate was ignorant but well meaning, as many often are. There was no malice. Jim took it in stride. Spock would only have been disrupting matters without good reason.
As the delegation is moving to the mess for dinner, Jim turns to him, all smiles, and asks, “Something wrong, Spock?” He appears oblivious to the turmoil that has been roiling within Spock for the past five minutes, or the growing urge to put his hands on any part of Jim and hold tight. Grip and show.
They’re still on duty. “No, sir.”
Jim accepts this easily enough with a frown and a nod, and his good mood at this so far successful delegation meeting isn’t dampened by Spock’s irregularity. Doctor McCoy has been staring suspiciously at Spock since that unnerving incident occurred, but thankfully he keeps his mouth shut this once. Spock puts the matter out of his mind.
Later that night, alone in their quarters, Spock allows the matter to reenter his mind. To his quiet alarm, the displeasure he felt when watching that man kiss Jim’s hand comes back in full force. Therefore, when Jim sits on the bed beside him, Spock performs an experiment. He kisses the back of his hand.
Jim chuckles. “Found that odd too, did you?”
“It was somewhat mystifying,” Spock manages, trying to play along with Jim’s interpretation of what it was: a joke. Something light to be laughed off.
His own gesture doesn’t entirely erase the memory of what that alien did, but it does soothe his inner beast, so to speak. He resolves to distract himself and further remedy the problem by kissing Jim, naively hoping the problem will fade into nothing.
2
The next time this strange phenomenon occurs, they are hosting a large party of mixed delegations aboard. Jim is, of course, mingling with all of them, masterfully playing the game of how much attention to give to each diplomat and for how long. However, he has been engaged in conversation with a particular female for the last ten minutes, forty seconds, which is much longer than any other he's conversed with so far.
Spock is watching from across the room, slowly talking himself through a meditation instead of following the urge to race across the room and insert himself into the conversation to make it clear to this woman that her errand is a fool's task.
Doctor McCoy sidles up beside Spock and murmurs, “What’s with that look on your face?”
Spock casts him a glance. “Look, Doctor?”
“Like someone spat in your dinner.” The doctor follows his gaze to where Jim stands chatting with that garrulous ambassador, the one who is still touching his arm.
All too quickly and gleefully does recognition dawn in Doctor McCoy’s eyes. “Ah. I see. Good old fashioned human jealousy, eh?”
“Doctor,” Spock grumbles, all too familiar with this man’s fondness for gossip, and for humiliating him.
“Not saying a word,” Dr. McCoy says quickly, miming zipping his lips. “I promise. Not a word to Jim. But between you and me, you’d better do something about it, otherwise one of the diplomats here is going to curse you out for bad manners. You look about ready to kill that woman.”
He gestures to the woman who is still infuriatingly occupying Jim’s attention. Touching his arm at any given opportunity. Smiling unceasingly. Laughing and engaging in flirtation wherever the opportunity presents itself. It is no less grating than it was one minute and three seconds ago when Spock last looked. However, he understands her desire, and sympathizes with her somewhat. Jim is extraordinarily attractive. To use a simpler term, gorgeous.
Spock was once in a position of denial and careful self-control every time Jim would flirt with him turn, or the curious number of times when his trousers fit tighter than ever before. Spock is glad those days are passed, and he now has the privilege of having Jim's love however he so desires in private. It is a balm on his fierce inner rage.
“I assure you,” he says nevertheless, “I have no intention of doing something so illogical. I would not see our mission here compromised any more than you would, no matter who insists upon taking up the captain’s valuable time.”
Doctor McCoy mutters, “Give it ten minutes,” and stalks away.
At last, when the fine line of Spock’s patience snaps, he stalks across the room and interrupts another of the woman's flirtations. Jim looks relieved to see him. The woman frowns at the intrusion. Spock ignores her. “Captain, I wondered if I might have a word about the new fuel efficiency reports we’re expecting tomorrow morning?”
Jim quirks an eyebrow at him, but nods and murmurs his excuses to the woman. Spock leads the way to their quarters with Jim close on his heels.
Spock resists the urge to do something irrational like take his arm and steer him away. Every person they pass who greets Jim, however briefly or innocently, is enough to make Spock’s blood boil—figuratively, of course, having picked up too many slang phrases from Dr. McCoy.
Once they’re there, Jim shuts the door behind them, leans against it and sighs with relief. “Thank you for getting me out of there, Spock, I—“
Spock crosses the room in two paces, pins Jim against the door, and interrupts him with a hard kiss. He takes Jim’s wrists in his grip, holding tightly as he feeds and devours at that oh so distracting mouth. That addicting mouth.
They only separate when Jim needs to breathe. “Spock,” he gasps, breaking their contact with dazed eyes, “not that I’m complaining, but I’m wondering what brought it on. Perhaps you could tell me so that I could do it again in the future.”
In lieu of reply, Spock kisses him again. They're pressed close, chest to chest against the door. Jim squirms against him and lets out an almost imperceptible whimper. Against all logic, Spock finds he’s willing to go to great lengths to make him produce that sound again.
Jim's voice is satisfyingly high and breathy. “Good lord, Spock, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you lose control like this.”
Lose control. You lost control.
Spock pulls away, struck sharply by a burst of shame. “I apologize,” he says, struggling to regain control over his voice, which sounds gravelly and rough. Jim shivers. “That was unseemly.” He lost control. He didn’t ask first. He took Jim’s wrists in a grip of Vulcan strength without asking first. He has committed an atrocity.
“I liked it,” Jim adds quickly, holding a hand up. He’s heaving for breath, flushed from his face down his chest, where his green shirt plunges with a deep neckline. It’s indecent, in Spock’s measured opinion.
“Nothing’s wrong, Spock. Not with me, anyway. Surely you knew I liked it. I’ve always appreciated when you’re a bit rougher with me. Show me the difference between human and Vulcan strength.” Jim smirks, which only worsens the limits of Spock’s concentration.
Such a difference is just such an issue at the moment.
Jim steps closer. “Are you alright? You seem consumed by something.”
Spock keeps his mind firmly off the arousal he can still smell on Jim’s skin, the red flush consuming his face, his accelerated heartbeat, his wide blown eyes.
He clasps his hands behind his back and digs his nails hard into his own wrist, reminding himself of the shameful way he lost control over an imagined slight. Over Jim being polite and doing his job, of all things.
When he speaks this time, his voice is clear and steady. As it should be. “Of course. We had best rejoin the gathering. We are still on duty, after all, and it would be illogical for us to compromise a meeting of this magnitude.” Spock pushes open the door for him and inclines his head.
Jim furrows an eyebrow at him. He no doubt knows this meeting is no more culturally or diplomatically important than any of the dozens of others they’ve hosted on board, and he also knows Spock has had no problem blowing off parties like this before in favor of ravishing his captain.
He has before, if the party is unimportant enough, and if Jim is teasing him enough. Jim is no doubt wondering why this time is different, for it’s not like Spock to be irregular.
Jim waits a total of 2.4 seconds before accepting this explanation with a nod and leading the way back out into the hallway. Spock takes another moment to compose himself and bury his pounding lust before following him out.
3
Spock is reading in bed when Jim comes out of the shower in a cloud of steam, sleep pants hanging loosely around his hips and towel around his neck. His hair is dripping onto his chest despite the towel. Spock follows the path of one of the water droplets with his eyes.
Toweling off his hair, Jim smiles and says, “See something you like?”
Recognizing and acknowledging his Earth slang, Spock says in turn, “You are rather delectable right after a shower.”
Jim’s face blooms red, a flush that travels straight down his chest. It is pathetically easy to make Jim blush. Spock finds a certain satisfaction in evoking it when he wants to. Never on duty, of course, and never in public, but here in the privacy of their own quarters, where Jim is indeed his and his alone, with no responsibilities, no others to interrupt or witness.
Jim gets into bed and sighs contentedly as he tucks himself into Spock’s side, his skin still hot from the shower and his body enveloped in the thick but not unpleasant scent of his soap. “You’re warm,” he murmurs, burrowing deeper. “Always warm…”
Spock allows his mind to drift back to the events of the day, when a pair of new crewmen and women came on board and shamelessly ogled Jim before Spock's eyes. That pesky and by now familiar feeling of anger and possessiveness overcame him. He has, however, learned to exert a greater control over himself in these moments, so the reaction wasn't quite so intense. He wanted to interject and inform the new crewmen that actually, the captain is spoken for, with a heavy hand on Jim's shoulder.
Jim found the event humorous, as did Doctor McCoy. They discussed it at length over dinner, unaware of Spock's inner turmoil beside them. Perhaps the good doctor was, as he always seems to enjoy Spock's suffering.
Those crewmen were young and green and unaware of the captain's relationship status. Spock chides himself for the umpteenth time about the flaw in logic. Jim has made it quite clear that he’s only interested in Spock. Who is he sharing the bed with, after all? Who is he wrapped so tightly around?
This line of thought is…most troubling. Spock must meditate upon it. He closes his eyes and strokes soothing circles over Jim’s back, purely to help him along in sleep.
4
Spock is regretting ever agreeing to beam down with Jim on tonight’s shore leave.
Besides the responsibility of a first officer to remain on the ship in case of emergency, the one night getaway to a quiet city on this quiet pleasure planet has been nothing but relaxing. Spock expected, anticipated a room with Jim to himself for the night, nothing to pull them away and nothing requiring them to hold back.
Jim would be delighted to see Spock let down his shields a few degrees, and for him, Spock would oblige.
Instead of that, they have been stuck in this bar for the past thirty three minutes when Jim promised it would only take him a moment to acquire the drink he wanted.
There is a man at Jim’s side at the bar who refuses to leave. The man turned up while Spock was in the washroom, and his finely tuned ears are picking up every word he says.
Among them are offers to purchase beverages, several unfunny flirtations, and a few lewd offers that curl Spock’s lip. Jim at first just laughed him off, tried to move away politely—as an important dignitary figure, he is always wary of offending natives on the planets they visit.
Spock doesn’t believe this man hasn’t realized just who he’s conversing with. Jim is wearing his green shirt, and perhaps the man at the bar—much like Spock during inopportune moments—was too distracted by the deep v neck to notice the insignia on it.
That familiar red hot flash of anger and, as the good doctor put it, jealousy, washes over Spock in a tidal wave. He clenches his fists and lingers in a corner of the bar, waiting to see if Jim will resolve the matter on his own. He doesn’t need Spock to fight his battles for him.
Besides, Spock isn’t in a fit state to speak with him. Jim mustn’t know of these moods he dissolves into whenever someone doesn’t realize Jim Kirk is spoken for. It would be unseemly for Spock to behave in such a pigheaded, human way. There is no logic to these moods. To this insistence roaring within him that everyone must know he and only he is allowed to court Jim. Is allowed the pleasure and the privilege of his love in the quiet moments at night, off duty, on duty, and on shore leave like now. To love Jim Kirk is to know a love so lifechanging, so complete, that even a Vulcan could not resist his charms. Spock doubts this man knows that.
After exactly six minutes and ten seconds have elapsed with this man still refusing to leave, and Jim saying nothing solemn enough to discourage him, Spock makes his way over. Logic dictates he resolve this so that the night is not wasted when he and Jim have better things to be doing, other places to be.
There is also the possibility that this man will wind up offended or creating a scene if Spock allows this to go on too much longer, no matter what Jim does. It is only logic that dictates Spock give in to the roaring demands within him.
Spock comes up beside Jim at the bar and says to the man, “I am afraid this man is not interested in your amorous advances. You are only making him uncomfortable. He does not wish to be overly rude or create a scene, which is the only reason he hasn’t sent you on your way by now.”
The man smirks, inebriated and arrogant as he is. “Oh? And how would you know that?”
Spock draws himself up. “I am his betrothed. We have been together for two years, four months, and five days. He and I would both greatly appreciate it if you would take yourself somewhere else. I believe there is a woman in the north corner there who is looking for a mate. She might suit your fancy.”
The man’s eyebrows shoot up. “A human and a Vulcan?” He looks once again at Jim, incredulous. Spock chooses this moment to slip an arm around Jim’s waist, pulling him in close. Jim doesn’t protest being spoken for and handled in such a manner—rather, he leans into Spock’s touch eagerly, placing one hand over Spock’s on his waist.
Jim’s eyes glitter. “You heard him.”
At long last, the man grumbles and shuffles off. Jim turns to Spock with a wide grin on his lips and desire glittering in his eyes. “Why, Spock. Betrothed?”
“It was a more believable excuse. The dates were truthful.”
“Of course,” Jim murmurs, looping his arms around Spock’s neck and lacing his fingers together. Spock’s hands go automatically to his hips. Jim knows the way it affects Spock when he stands like that, letting Spock pull him in close until they’re touching chest to chest, heedless of the world around them.
Jim is smiling openly and brightly. “My knight in shining armor. Thank you, once again, for coming to my rescue. Is it my imagination, or has this sort of thing been happening a lot lately?”
All too often, Spock thinks. “You are extraordinarily attractive, Jim. It is hardly surprising that you catch attention wherever you go, whether strangers know who you are or not.”
“Why, thank you, Mr. Spock,” Jim murmurs, leaning up to press a kiss to the corner of Spock’s mouth. Those lips curve into a teasing smile. “You’re not so bad yourself. Would you like to dance, or would you like to get out of here?” He licks his lips, letting a strand of gold-brown hair fall over his forehead.
All that matters in this world is the brilliantly attractive man before him. “I would prefer to have you alone as soon as possible, Jim.”
Jim’s warm laughter trails down his neck as he leads Spock out of this accursed bar and into the street.
1
The figurative breaking point comes when they’re transporting a Starfleet bureaucrat well known for having strong opinions and being unafraid to express them. A man with unfortunately archaic Earth ideals.
Thankfully, in Jim’s presence he keeps his thoughts to himself for the most part. The few insults that do slide through his lips, Jim allows to pass with graceful tact. The man does give a sneer down his nose when he sees Spock’s ears, but he seems wise enough not to bring that up in Jim’s earshot.
He’s talking to his aides in the mess, deep into his drink and his extensive vocabulary of insults. His favorite topic seems to be Jim, as Spock feared it would be.
“What kind of woman would be able to take that man for a husband? He’s a dictator, a barking madman, that much is clear. No respect for his superiors. Just because he has a ship and a band of loyalists doesn’t mean he’s not still beholden to us at command, you know.”
He leans in close to whisper, “Do you know, I’ve heard rumors he takes a man to bed? That Vulcan, no less? No one would have him, of course. Makes sense that all the human women turned him down. Who’d want him, after all? Filth. I’ll be glad to get off this ship.”
Spock’s fine ears pick up every word, until he’s gripping the edge of the table so tightly he’s starting to warp it.
Thankfully, Mr. Scott kept the younger crewmen from starting fights, but Spock was nearly one of them.
Red hot rage built up so powerfully in Spock’s vision, past all of his shields and defenses. Spock had to remove himself from the situation in order not to create a scene and disrupt the peace they’ve been trying so very hard to keep. He has been lingering in his quarters ever since, since he wasn’t on duty and knew Jim could call for him if he truly needed professional help.
No amount of meditating on the problem seems to bring a solution. His desire has not changed—to explain to the bureaucrat quite clearly what this Vulcan thinks of his captain, and just how much he does want him. He’d like to see the man’s lip curl with every word.
After the end of his shift, Jim returns to their quarters. His face is tense. “Mr. Scott told me you walked out when our guest started saying some…improper things. He’s been discreetly chastised at my order, but it worries me that he said something strong enough to get to you. What’s bothering you, Spock?”
“Nothing.”
Jim steps closer, voice turning soft. “It’s not nothing. I know that look on your face. You’ve been acting a bit strange for a while now. I’ve surmised that it can’t be a professional complaint, for you’d have voiced such a thing by now. It must be a personal problem.” His eyes turn dark. “Have I done something to upset you?”
Spock doesn’t supply the automatic answer that he doesn’t get upset, knowing it would only drive Jim into further worry. “The problem is my own,” he replies, “though it does concern you.”
That does not seem to alleviate Jim’s fears. He comes in until he’s brushing up against Spock’s knees, looking down at him with his brow knitted in worry. Spock suppresses the urge to reach in and smooth it out. “Whatever it is, you can tell me, now or ever. Please. I don’t like to see you like this when I’m sure there’s something I can do to help. You said it concerns me.”
Jim has a remarkable way of making the illogical seem logical, so Spock surrenders and slowly speaks of the ailment that has plagued him for months now.
“Several times in recent memory, I found myself overcome with irrational and unprecedented anger when others give you close attention. Attention I am aware you did not ask for or want, attention which is often not pleasant—such as that of the stranger we encountered at the drinking establishment on our shore leave, and the insults of our guest tonight.
“He questioned the fact that anyone—human woman, man, or Vulcan—could possibly desire you. Other times, strangers have given you amorous attention without realizing that you are already involved. Each time this happens, I have been…quite overwhelmed.
“I believe the human term would be jealousy. I found myself…possessive of you.” He casts his eyes away. “It is a shameful and unbecoming thing for a Vulcan. Tonight, I had to remove myself from the mess in order not to do something quite inappropriate. Something I’d regret. I have not told you of this problem because I did not want you to think ill of me for failing to control myself. For considering you in such an instinctive manner. You belong only to yourself. I know better than to think otherwise.”
Jim sits beside him on the bed, warm and close. He smells lovely, and he is just as familiar and comforting as he’s always been. Spock carefully keeps his eyes ahead, refusing to give into base urges. And then comes Jim’s voice, soft and concerned. “Spock…you do know that I am yours, don’t you?”
Spock’s heartbeat is accelerated. He chooses his reply carefully. “It is a well known fact that you’ve chosen to enter into a monogamous relationship with me—“
“Spock,” Jim cuts off. “I’m asking if you know. Right in your heart.” He lays a fist against his own, taking Spock’s chin to look at him with wide and loving eyes.
Spock purses his lips. “I do.”
“Good. Because it’s true. You’re the only one I want.” Jim smiles with a spark of mischief in his eyes. “I love you and only you, quite hopelessly. Head over heels for you. That’s the way it’s been for years. I don’t know how you of all people fail to see that.”
A rare but overwhelming relief washes over Spock. “Believe me, I’ve been quite mystified myself.”
Jim chuckles warmly and kisses him again, hands sliding around Spock’s shoulders and up his neck. “Furthermore, I’m not angry about your possessive tendencies, or whatever you feared I might say. I’m really rather pleased.”
Jim locks his fingers around the back of Spock’s neck. Spock keeps his hands to himself. “To evoke such emotion from you—and I am sorry, Spock, but we must call it what it is—to evoke such a jealousy in a Vulcan, in you, that you’re driven to act on it, breaking through your own barriers in order to make sure everyone knows I’m yours? Well…you know how to make a girl feel flattered, Mr. Spock.”
Spock slowly nods. “That is…good to hear. I love you just as fervently.”
Jim is still grinning. “Why don’t you do something about it, then?”
Spock stiffens. “Jim?”
“Let everyone on this ship know that I’m yours. Show me off like you want to. Come on, Spock.” He’s still smiling, warm and open and loving, tilting his head just so to expose the long column of his neck, flushed and shining with sweat. He always runs hot. “You’ve earned it. Take your prize. Don’t hold back. You don’t ever need to do so with me.”
Spock at last allows his hands to settle on Jim’s waist, allowing his fervent desire to cloud his head. His mouth descends to that spot exposed on Jim’s shirt where his neck meets his shoulder. Jim lets out a joyful sigh, vulnerable and entirely open to Spock’s ministrations.
Mine, Spock thinks, and bites down. By the time he’s done, all will know. All will see.
#
“Fucking hell, Jim. What happened?”
“Mind your business, Bones,” Jim mutters, smiling smugly to himself as he steps onto the bridge the next morning.
“Like hell I will. Let me look at you.” Doctor McCoy reaches for the collar of his shirt, but Jim squirms out of his grip. They dance around each other, Jim ducking under McCoy’s arm as he fights to get away. The other crew on the bridge watch with thinly veiled amusement. Spock turns from his post to watch with a light curiosity.
Once he’s safely within his own seat, Jim sighs and lets McCoy get close enough to look at the barrage of marks dotting his neck.
“Looks like you got mauled by a bear,” the doctor says, looking at Jim with a childish and horrified fascination. “Remind me never to get in the way of that man of yours.”
Spock, hearing this despite its low tone, says, “You have little to worry about. My baser instincts have never been threatened by you, Doctor.”
Bones frowns. “I’m not sure if I should be relieved or insulted.”
Jim laughs at them both. He catches Spock’s eye and smiles warmly, wearing his marks with pride for his short shift on this quiet morning of travel. Spock observes the warm satiation on his lover, the ease, the love, and settles into his work with a much stronger constitution than he’s had of late. Jim is his, and all can see.
Spock revels in satisfaction, an experiment well concluded. A mystery solved. Above all, a happy Jim.